The Guilt Of A Brother
by x-Pretty-Kitty-x
Summary: After Sherlock's death, Mycroft thinks about his brother's death. and for the first time in years, Mycroft is over come with the crushing and debilitating sense of guilt. So he takes the matter into his own hands. Unfortunately, he doesn't realise that there is one person who has surprisingly fell in love with the older Holmes. But can he save Mycroft in time?
1. Chapter 1

**The Guilt Of A Brother**

**Chapter One**

**AN:**** So I had to write this. Sorry but I did. Obviously this is an AU and won't happen. Or at least I hope it won't but here it is. Based on the fact that Mycroft doesn't know Sherlock faked his own death xxxxx**

**Summary:**** After Sherlock's death, Mycroft thinks about his brother's death. John's words ring in his ears and for the first time in years, Mycroft is over come with the crushing and debilitating sense of guilt. He can't shake the feeling so he takes the matter into his own hands. Unfortunately, he doesn't realise that there is one person who doesn't blame him for Sherlock's death and has surprisingly fell in love with the older Holmes. But can he save Mycroft in time?**

"_Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, hm? And you have given him the perfect ammunition."_

"_John, I'm sorry."_

"_Oh, please."_

Mycroft rests his head in his hands, silent sobs racking his body as he tries to compose himself.

John was right, he let his little brother down when he needed him the most. Mycroft had greatly underestimated Moriarty and his 'game' when he had told him the story, thinking that he would just use it to goad Sherlock rather than kill him.

If for one second Mycroft had actually believed the game would go so far as to cause his brother to kill himself, then of course, he _wouldn't_ have told Moriarty the story.

He should have known better, but he was too blinded by catching the criminal and stopping his brother from stupidly continuing to play the game that he had got caught up in it himself and had let Moriarty goad _him_ into spilling all his secrets.

Mycroft picks up the glass of scotch and stares at it, swilling it around the glass a few times before knocking it all back in one gulp. When he stands, his body is shaking as he walks over to the bedside table and with shaking hands; he pulls out the item he's been looking for. His father's pistol.

He flicks it over in his hands a few times; testing the weight of it, fully loaded once again. As he sits down on the bed, his mobile buzzes with an incoming text.

He picks it up with his free hand and opens the message.

_Hey Mycroft,_

_You alright? Do you want _

_me to come round? You _

_probably need someone _

_to talk to. You did just lose _

_your brother. You shouldn't _

_be alone. Text me if you _

_need to._

_GL_

_**MESSAGE SENT**_

Mycroft smiles softly to himself; warmth filling his chest for a few moments before remembering what he did. Suddenly another text message comes through.

_Sorry, what am I saying?_

_You don't need a daft git _

_like me. I'll probably just _

_make it worse. Forget I said _

_anything. But, if you do need _

_me then I'll listen. Alright?_

_Greg_

_**MESSAGE SENT**_

Mycroft smiles again at the inspector trying to personalise the message in an attempt to help the younger man. What he doesn't realise is that he is _beyond _help. He just gave a psychopath to weapon he needed to kill his own brother. If anyone should have the inspector's comfort then it should be John. He is, after all, the innocent one in all of this. Mycroft doesn't deserve sympathy or comfort, he deserves to be alone.

Despite himself, the older Holmes types a brief but courteous reply.

_Thank you, Gregory. But that _

_is unnecessary. I am coping in _

_my own way. I think John might _

_appreciate a visit. He's at a loss _

_at this time. Have a pleasant _

_evening, Gregory._

_Mycroft_

_**MESSAGE SENT**_

He puts the phone back on the bedside table and settles himself on his bed before lifting the gun to his head.

"I'm so sorry, dear brother." He says to the room before pulling the trigger.

The last sound is Mycroft's lifeless body as it flops down on the bed.

x..x

Despite Mycroft's text assuring him that he's alright, Greg can't shake the feeling that something is very _wrong_. He chuckles humourlessly to himself at the memory of Sherlock sending him the word when they worked the Study In Pink case. John's first case, where he shot the cabbie. John still thinks Greg doesn't know.

What he also doesn't know is that Greg let it slide because of the circumstances. If it wasn't the fact that he did it to save Sherlock's life, John would have been arrested on the spot. But Greg couldn't do that.

Because from that moment he knew, just knew, that this seemingly harmless, jumper-wearing short man, would make Sherlock better. And he did. Greg couldn't take that away from John, couldn't take away his need to be _needed_ by somebody.

Greg shakes himself and makes a decision, picking up his keys and coat; he stands up and leaves the flat.

He makes it to Mycroft's house in twenty minutes; which much class as a record time, and when he gets there the feeling of uneasiness becomes stronger.

He tries to find a spare key so that he can get in and after five minutes of searching, he finally finds it and unlocks the door. He looks around the house for the younger man before coming to his bedroom and decides to take a look.

His heart nearly gives out at what he sees; Mycroft is lying on his bed, blood straining his pillow red as the gun lies in his hand.

Greg gasps brokenly, walking over to the bed and checking for signs of life. He knows it's useless; a gunshot to the head would have killed him instantly and he's already started to go cold.

Greg pulls out his phone and texts John, too afraid his voice will break if he rings.

_Come to Mycroft's._

_Immediately! I have _

_some bad news, John._

_I'm sorry._

_Greg_

_**MESSAGE SENT**_

Greg reaches for Mycroft's free hand and squeezes tightly, trying not to break down in tears.

"Oh, Mycroft. I'm so sorry. I should have come round sooner. I should have told you … that I love you. That I am _in love_ with you. I should have told you that it wasn't your fault and … you're not the bad guy. I let you down ... I'm sorry. I wish you'd come back."

Greg doesn't know how long he's sat there, holding Mycroft's cold hand and sobbing to himself, before there's a knock on the door and John enters.

"Oh, God." John gasps, gripping the doorframe. "Greg, what … what did he do?"

"He shot himself."

"I can see that, Greg." John snaps, glaring at the older man.

"Sorry. Um, I texted him and he said he was alright. But I felt like something was wrong. I couldn't understand why so I came to check on him. I found him like this."

"I'm sorry, Greg. I know you … ya know. What's that, on the table?" John asks, eyeing the envelope.

"I don't … know. I didn't look at the table when I came in. I just sat down here. Let's see." Greg replies, picking up the sealed envelope and ripping it open.

"Dear Gregory, I want you to know the truth. I got caught up in Moriarty's game and unknowingly set my little brother up to commit suicide. I'm deeply sorry for that. Contrary to what everyone believes, I love my brother dearly … and worry about him constantly. I never meant to hurt him. I was merely trying to prevent him from … killing himself playing Moriarty's game. I know how deeply he means to John and I only wanted to protect his safety. Unfortunately, I have failed. I'm leaving this note because … isn't that what people do? When they want to end their life? I knew it would be you … Gregory, who would find this letter. My brother teased me saying that you are … 'stupidly in love with me', his words, not mine. And I never believed him. But if you are reading this now … then I know he was correct. I'm just sorry that I did this to you." Greg reads aloud, his voice breaking occasionally before he takes a deep breath and continues.

"I never meant to hurt you either. But given what I did to my own brother … you are better off without me. But know that I love you too, my dear Gregory. I have for a long time. Tell John that I am sorry … I never meant to kill the man he … loves, I truly wanted to protect him. And I hope for his sake … that Sherlock had a plan. And I hope that he somehow comes back. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. I just cannot wait until he 'returns', the guilt is too much ... for even me to bare. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Gregory, my love."

"Greg, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I said some awful things to him before Sherlock … before he, ya know. I was angry. I didn't think he'd …" John replies, his voice breaks and a sob escapes his lips.

"It's alright, John. I don't think anyone knew." Greg whispers, looking up at John with soft eyes.

"You did."

"No, I knew there was something wrong … I didn't think he'd … kill himself."

"I am truly sorry, Greg. Sorry for your loss. If there was anything I could do …"

"I couldn't save Sherlock, I think this is only fair."

"It's not about _fair_. It's about love …" John snaps until Greg interrupts him.

"I guess this is what you get when you tangle with the Holmes' boys. Always so dramatic." Greg replies, a broken smile appearing on his lips.

"Let's go. Come back to Baker Street, please. We've both lost the men we love, neither of us should be alone." John whispers softly, moving over to Greg and gently touching his arm.

"Yeah." Greg nods, looking back at Mycroft. He leans over and places a kiss to his lips, "I love you, My."

x..x

Greg awakes with a scream, tears streaming down his eyes. He lying on the couch were he fell asleep a few hours ago watching tv.

He sits up and looks around trying to steady his breathing.

He stands up and grabs his keys, rushing out of the flat.

He knows where he has to go and who he has to see.

Mycroft Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Guilt Of A Brother**

**(Chapter Two)**

**AN:**** Okay, so this was supposed to be a one-shot death fic. And because I have a soft spot for Mark Gatiss, I made this. God, I hate that man for making me feel so guilty about killing Mycroft off xxxxx**

**Summary:**** Greg doesn't believe Mycroft is dead, just like John doesn't believe it about Sherlock. Greg knows it's stupid but he has to make sure. He heads to Mycroft's house to check.**

Greg finds the key with ease, shoving it into the lock and pushing the door open. He walks quietly through the house and upstairs towards Mycroft's bedroom.

When he hears movement, he pauses, ready to attack but the footfalls sound heavy and tired. So, instead, he opens the bedroom door carefully and sees Mycroft sat on the bed, gripping the gun in his hand.

"Mycroft, don't. _Please_." Greg whispers, watching as sad grey eyes meet his own.

Then puzzlement crosses the younger man's features, as though he can't believe Greg is actually there.

"My, please don't do it. I … love you. I can help you." Greg continues, walking over to the bed and kneeling in front of Mycroft.

"Gregory?" Mycroft whispers, finally daring his voice to speak.

The younger man reaches a hand out to touch Greg's face tentatively.

"I'm here, love." Greg replies, smiling softly. "What are ya playing at, eh? Attempting to top yourself. I thought you'd have learnt _that_ doesn't do any good. Give me that here."

Mycroft drops his gaze to the gun for a moment before hesitantly handing it over to Greg.

Greg nods slowly, placing the gun back on the bedside table.

"How did you know?" Mycroft whispers softly, looking back up at Greg.

"I think ... I had a dream about it. It was weird. And it bloody _terrified_ me." Greg replies sadly, stroking Mycroft's knee.

"Gregory … I … There's a letter. I need you to read it. I don't know if … I can read it to you."

Greg thinks about protesting, about telling Mycroft that the letter was in the dream too but decides against, because Mycroft poured his soul out into that letter and if he's being honest with himself, he wants to read it now _knowing_ that he can tell the younger man everything he wanted to say to him, in person.

Instead, he nods and picks up the envelope, ripping it open to read the contents.

_Dear Gregory, _

_I want you to know the truth. I got caught up in Moriarty's game and unknowingly set my little brother up to commit suicide. _

_I'm deeply sorry for that. Contrary to what everyone believes, I love my brother dearly and worry about him constantly. _

_I never meant to hurt him. I was merely trying to prevent him from killing himself playing Moriarty's game. I know how deeply he means to John and I only wanted to protect his safety. _

_Unfortunately, I have failed. I'm leaving this note because, isn't that what people do? When they want to end their life? _

_I knew it would be you, Gregory, who would find this letter. My brother teased me saying that you are 'stupidly in love with me', his words, not mine. And I never believed him. _

_But if you are reading this now, then I know he was correct. _

_I'm just sorry that I did this to you. I never meant to hurt you either. But given what I did to my own brother, you are better off without me. _

_But know that I love you too, my dear Gregory. I have for a long time. _

_Tell John that I am sorry. I never meant to kill the man he loves, I truly wanted to protect him. _

_And I hope for his sake that Sherlock had a plan. And I hope that he somehow comes back. _

_But maybe that's just wishful thinking. _

_I just cannot wait until he 'returns', the guilt is too much for even me to bare. _

_I'm sorry. _

_Goodbye, Gregory, My Love._

_xx_

"Obviously it's written for after my … death but the point remains the same. I was always told that caring was not an advantage. And caring for you was probably the _biggest_ mistake I ever made ... Because now I find myself … somewhat in love with you, Gregory. And I don't think I could handle rejection …"

"I'll never reject you, My. Because, I've fallen in love with you too. I don't know how that happened given the fact that you kidnap me and order me to look after Sherlock, but there you go." Greg interrupts, letting a little chuckle escapes.

"Well, there is no need to order you around anymore. Or kidnap you. Especially since Sherlock is … gone." Mycroft replies, his voice breaking on the last word.

"So, you don't need me anymore." Greg whispers, feeling worried.

"No. But I do _want _you, Gregory. Very much in fact. The only reason I was doing this was because … of _him_. I'm more than glad you stopped me, however." Mycroft replies, looking back to Greg and lifting his chin.

Greg smiles warmly, his eyes locking with Mycroft's as he leans up and kisses him.

"I love you, Mycroft Holmes." He whispers into Mycroft's lips.

"And I love you too, Gregory Lestrade." Mycroft replies with a soft smile, before connecting his lips with Greg's again.

"What happened to Sherlock _wasn't _your fault, Mycroft. You have to believe that. But I'm here for you, as long as you need or want me."

"Oh, I'm more than positive that I will _always_ want you, Gregory." Mycroft replies, letting a smirk cross his lips.

Greg smiles back and blushes bright red, trying to cover it up.

Mycroft chuckles softly, stroking Greg's hair gently and relishing in the softness.

"Do you think he _could_ do it? Fake his own death, I mean?" Greg asks in a whisper, staring at the floor.

"Honestly, Gregory, I hope he has. At least then there is a possibility that he can return." Mycroft replies softly, still stroking Greg's hair.

"Me too."

"You need to sleep. Come on." Mycroft half orders, pulling Greg's arm.

"Promise you won't do anything stupid while I'm asleep?" Greg asks, looking up at Mycroft.

"I have something new to live for now, Gregory. You. So yes, I promise I won't do anything stupid while you're asleep, or awake for that matter." Mycroft smiles genuinely, standing up to slide the older man's jacket off his shoulders.

Greg smiles in response and allows the younger man to strip him; preferring that to the alternative.

When he gets to his pants, Greg stops him, feeling suddenly self-conscious but Mycroft just smiles softly and unbuckles his belt, pulling Greg's pants down and leaving him in just his underwear.

Mycroft steps back to admire the older man properly and a small smile creeps across his lips.

"You're absolutely beautiful, Gregory." He whispers in Greg's ear, gently touching his fingertips to the older man's hips.

Greg moans softly, resting a hand on Mycroft's hip as he tries to calm himself. Once he can breathe without moaning, his hands come up to unbutton Mycroft's shirt.

As each button slides out of the hole and reveals more skin, Greg presses his lips to the pale chest, sighing softly.

"So are you, my love." Greg whispers softly, trailing his hands down Mycroft's chest and causing the younger man to blush.

He quickly divests Mycroft of his trousers and repeats the younger man's earlier actions; looking him up and down with a loving gaze before guiding him back to the bed.

He gently pushes him back and crawls into his side, pulling the thick blanket over them before resting his head on Mycroft's chest.

"You still amaze me, Gregory." Mycroft whispers into Greg's hair.

"Why's that?" Greg asks softly, looking up into the younger man's eyes.

"Because, even though I wanted you to come and find me, I never thought you would." Mycroft whispers softly, inhaling Greg's scent and sighing peacefully.

"I'll always find you, My." Greg whispers back, kissing Mycroft's chest.

"I look forward to it, my dear." Mycroft smiles, kissing Greg's head and hugging him tighter.

"Always. You remember that." Greg replies softly, looking up at his lover and discovering he's already asleep.

He leans up and kisses Mycroft's lips softly, "I love you, My." He whispers, resting his head back on Mycroft's chest and closing his eyes.

For the first time in months, Greg sleeps soundly and the only dreams of himself and Mycroft are those that are a little _too_ explicit for a fresh relationship.


End file.
